The Doctor in the Cupboard
by Guivana
Summary: House didn't believe in magic, but under the circumstances, what else could he blame? Science just didn't have an explanation for the fact that he'd woken up the size of a toy.
1. In Which House is Lost

The first thing House became aware of when he awoke the overwhelming darkness. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was awake - it distinctly felt like something was missing, but he didn't know what (besides light) was supposed to be present and wasn't - but the notion was dispelled as he realized that he was somewhere cool, drafty, and hard. Tentatively, he reached out to feel the surface under him. It was like wood, but then, not quite the same. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly felt different but, deciding it wasn't the most important issue to address, he filed away information of the surface's texture to study later. No, his most pressing concern was that he had no clue where the hell he was. He felt around in the dark for his cane, but, unable to find it, gritted his teeth and pulled himself into a sitting position.

That was when he knew what was missing. The customary pain in his leg, which had loyally followed him around for years, was conspicuously absent as he sat up. Experimentally, House flexed his leg. Nothing but the feeling of the cool wood beneath him. It occurred to him at that point that his clothes were also missing. He frowned and stood. The first few steps were awkward as he limped forward, instinctively compensating for an injury that wasn't there. But then he got the hang of it and, arms flailing about awkwardly in the darkness, he began to search for something - anything - that would help him figure out his whereabouts.

As he felt about in the dark, he groped mentally for his most recent memories, hoping for some insight. _I remember the accident. I was trying to figure out what had happened, and what symptom I saw, and who had it. I overdosed and remembered it was Amber. She was mangled and sick, and we tried to figure out what was killing her. Wilson had us freeze her body for time. _He paused in his line of thought as his hand connected with something hard and stiff - the wall was made from the same surface that he stood on. House followed it to the left, hoping to find where it led, and dove back into his mind. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he was aware of the fact that it was far easier to remember things here than it had been before.

_What else happened? I remember that Wilson wanted to electrocute my brain. To see if there were any other symptoms I forgot. Chase did that, and I remembered what I had seen. Then... _He scrunched up his face. Something bad had happened to him after that. Had it been a heart attack? He wasn't sure. But he knew that if anything had happened between then and now, he didn't remember it.

House struggled to piece together all the information he'd collected so far. He reached the corner of the wall and turned, following the new path. What did all of this mean? He was in a pitch dark and unfamiliar place that so far, seemed barren of anything but floor and wall. He was naked, and his infarction had disappeared. It occurred to him to check his head wound, but that too had vanished. The most recent memory he had was of what he thought might be a heart attack. He looked for a way all of these facts connected and gasped.

_Am I dead?_ The thought struck him suddenly, and he felt a tingle of dread rise at the notion. But then he forced the idea out of his mind. He had never believed in an afterlife, and even if he was wrong about that, there was no way that _this_ could be it. A big dark room? What kind of eternity was that?

_Maybe it's Hell,_ he mused. _Maybe I'm going to spend eternity by myself here and go insane._ He considered the notion. If this really was Hell, he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself, right? Curiously, he dropped his right hand and stroked himself, shivering at the sensation. _Scratch that theory._

But it definitely wasn't Heaven, either.

Which meant that either the afterlife didn't conform to Christian ideas (which he figured was the most likely answer) or he wasn't really dead. The latter was harder to swallow, mainly because there were too many things that weren't possible.

"Guess this is it." House was startled by the sound of his own voice as he spoke aloud, the words echoing softly back to him. The sound of the echo suggested that the room wasn't as large as he'd previously guessed, and he increased his pace as he followed the wall. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he suddenly felt as though he might find it.

There! He reached another corner, but this one was different from the last. There was something sticking out of it, metal and about as tall as he. House ran his hands over it frantically, trying to discern what exactly it was, and why he had a nagging feeling that it was significant. It was round, smooth, and oddly familiar. He concentrated on forming an image of the thing in his head. What he saw in his mind's eye was a hinge. A very large hinge, to be specific.

Just as he arrived as this conclusion, the wall was pulled sharply away from him, and he slammed his eyes shut as blinding light flooded the room. As he covered his face to shield himself from the light, he heard a gasp, which he was quite certain was not his own. Forcing his eyes open, House looked for the source of the sound. It was hardly a moment before the sight before him answered his question. The blood drained from his face and he felt his knees begin to shake as he stared weakly at the impossibility before him, and a dozen questions surged through his head. But of the swarm of queries that threatened to overwhelm his dizzy mind, only one hardly coherent question managed to tumble out of his lips.

"What the hell?"


	2. In Which House is Small

The teenage girl in front of House seemed as shocked as he. She looked normal in every respect but one; brown eyes, frizzy brown hair, and freckles all fell together, accenting her pretty, if bland, features. The single abnormal trait was, however, too big to ignore. She was a giant.

To say she was humongous was a gross understatement. Tremendous eyes, each larger than his head, stared at House with disbelief. He didn't really believe the situation, either. "I must be hallucinating or something," he muttered, rubbing his forehead in agitation.

"What?" The girl snapped out of her awe, leaning in to look at House more closely, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable as he recalled that he was naked.

"I said that I think I'm hallucinating," he repeated more loudly, covering his groin with his hands and glaring at her.

"Huh," was all the girl said in reply. She didn't seem to notice (or perhaps she simply didn't care) that he was nude. After a few moments, she managed to add, "I guess this is pretty crazy, isn't it?"

House didn't respond as he stepped forward, more interested in studying his surroundings than in entertaining this girl who couldn't possibly actually exist. Unfortunately, if he judged everything else that he saw by the same criteria as the teenager who now observed him with keen interest, none of what he saw was real. A glance backwards told him that the enormous room that he'd stepped out of actually appeared to be some sort of box or cupboard, and none too new, as the peeling white paint would suggest. The cupboard was sitting atop an expansive wooden field, and as he gingerly approached the edge and peered down, he found that it was a dresser. The shag carpet seemed miles down, and House shuddered as he backed away from the dresser end. Looking around, he realized he was in what could only be a bedroom. There was a bed, a closet, a desk in the corner, and various movie posters on the walls. All of these things impossibly large, of course. And still looming over House, just as unbelievable as she'd been when he first saw her, was that girl, who had been silently watching House as he explored his environs, her eyes sparkling with fascination.

"Stop staring," House snapped. "Do you like being stared at when you're naked?" He was pleased to see that she had the decency to blush as she averted her eyes and moved away from the dresser. House realized that she'd been kneeling when she stood up, and she seemed even more disturbingly huge than before. She began to rummage through a box on top of the desk in the corner; it was relatively small, at least from the girl's perspective. "What are you doing?" he called out. She answered a moment later by flashing him a smile as she held up a little suit. He couldn't be sure with the distance between them, but House was perturbed to find that it appeared to be roughly the right size for him. She came back to the dresser and knelt in front of him once more, setting the suit down beside him.

"I hope that fits okay. Go ahead and put it on, I won't peek." She turned her head away after she finished speaking, her gaze darting to the wall behind her.

House narrowed his eyes. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. He picked up the suit pants, which he could now tell were made of a rough, scratchy material. _Musty be doll clothes._

"I don't know," she responded helplessly. "This isn't exactly the sort of thing I see every day, you know?" She glanced over at him, and averted her eyes once more when House glared at her as he pulled on the pants.

"So why did you have clothes that fit me? Optimistic about that new diet you heard about?" He picked up the jacket, trying to decide if he should wear it over the shirt, before dropping it back down again. It was warm in the room anyway, and the material was uncomfortable. He didn't even consider putting on the plastic shoes.

She laughed. "Those are for dolls. I make them." She looked over at him again, then turned all the way as she saw that he was fully decent. "You know, you were a doll before I put you into that cupboard. I guess it's magical."

House glanced up sharply. "_What?_"

The girl shifted uncomfortably. "The doll part, or the magic part?"

"The doll part."

She sighed. "Yeah, I made a doll - you, I guess - and put it into the cupboard so the cat wouldn't get it. He likes to chew up my dolls."

"I don't care about the cat," House snapped. "I'm not a doll, and I never was one. I'm a doctor at Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital." He felt more than a little agitated by the girl's words, and it must have shown, for she cringed.

"I, uh... Hey, here's a thought. Maybe when I put the doll into the cupboard, you somehow ended up possessing the doll or something." House shot her a dirty look. There was something terribly offensive about the idea of being a doll, but he couldn't think of an explanation that fit better than hers.

"Okay, fine. Maybe that's what happened," House said, shrugging. He could sort it out later. "What's your name, kid?"

"Jen Carter." She began to extend her hand towards House, and he couldn't hold back the instinct the flinch. Her hand was quickly dropped, and House realized with no small loss of dignity that she'd probably meant to shake his hand, forgetting the size discrepancy.

"Greg House," he responded shortly.

For a minute or so afterwards, there was an awkward silence as Jen made a point of not looking at him, and House pretended to ignore her. The tension was finally shattered when Jen timidly asked, "Can I... pick you up?"

House stiffened at the question. The idea of being held in somebody's hand was an unsettling one. He hadn't yet made physical contact with her, and as long as he didn't, he could continue to assure himself that he didn't actually think any of this was real. But at the same time, if it _was_ real, then he was really and truly five inches tall, and he would probably have to get used to being held. The realization that this was a potentially permanent situation slammed into him like a freight train, and House nearly fell over as the full impact of it hit him. He shut his eyes as he considering the implications. _Oh god, I might be like this for the rest of my life. How the hell can I live like this? How could I do my job? What would Wilson think?_ His eyes flew open again. "Wilson!"

"Uhm... what?" House looked up at Jen, who was blinking in confusion. In the heat of his perturbing epihpany, he'd nearly forgotten about her.

"Nothing," he answered quickly. He remembered her question. "Go ahead... just be careful." She nodded, and House swallowed hard as a slender hand approached him hesitantly. Wave after wave of anxiety rolled over him as his instincts insisted that this was dangerous, wrong, and a very bad idea. She picked him up, grasping his waist between thumb and forefinger, and House felt himself inching farther along the path of apprehension. And then he was lifted in the air and held aloft in front of those tremendously big brown eyes, and he lost control, thrashing violently. A look of alarm crossed Jen's face, and almost immediately, House was set down on the dresser again. He took a deep shuddering breath and turned away, not daring to look up at the teen again.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I wasn't scared," he hissed through gritted teeth. He turned back to Jen, eyes fierce as he dared her to argue. She didn't seem to notice this as she stared down at the floor, looking crestfallen. "Hey," House said loudly. "There's nothing more annoying than a depressed teenager. Cut it out."

"Okay," she replied, cracking a smile. House rolled his eyes.

"Jennifer!" Two sharp knocks accompanied the call, and the two occupants of the room turned to the door in alarm. "You need to leave now or you'll be late." A moment later, the sound of footsteps retreating from the door were heard, and Jen groaned.

"Hey, um, I have to get to school..." She trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "I'm guessing you don't want to come with me, so maybe you can stay in the cupboard or dresser or something while I'm gone... that way Felix won't find you."

"I'm guessing Felix is the cat. Not very original."

"You think?" Jen responded, rolling her eyes as she stood. She went to the closet and pulled out a black messenger bag. "Er, do you think you'll be okay?"

House swallowed. He didn't want to be anywhere near a cat big enough to swallow him whole. "I'll go with you."

Jen nodded, and House found it annoyingly relieving that she didn't ask why he wanted to go to school with her. She came back to the dresser. "Would you rather be in my bag, or my pocket?" House looked at the bag, which appeared to be very tightly packed. Then he looked up at the teenager. The only pockets in her ensemble were the side pockets on her pants, but they were a loose-fitting style, and he suspected that he'd have more room there than in the overcrowded bag.

"Pocket," he finally answered. She reached out towards him, then hesitated as House sucked in a deep breath. "Just do it," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. A moment later, House felt thick fingers wrapping around his frame, pulling him off of the dresser. He cracked an eye open and watched as Jen's waist drew nearer, until he was positioned above her right side pocket. Her free hand pulled out the rim, and he was dropped in.

Immediately, House was aware of how little room there was in the pocket. It wasn't tight, but it was small, and he squirmed a bit, trying to find a comfortable position. It was also very warm, no doubt because of the heat emanating from the body he was pressed against. But it wasn't unbearably hot.

"Are you okay in there?" Light spilled into the pocket as Jen pulled the rim of the pocket out to look at him.

"Just peachy," House responded, and the pocket fell shut again. A few seconds later, House felt a gentle rocking motion, and he supposed Jen was walking. It was an odd feeling. He sighed as he leaned back, stretched across the bottom of the pocket, already feeling bored. He had a feeling that it was going to be long day.


	3. In Which House is Bored

As Jen drove herself to school, House poked his head out of her pocket so he could look at her while they conversed. It was an odd angle - certainly one he wasn't used to - but he was more comfortable seeing her than not. Beyond that, he suspected that if he tried to talk to her with his head inside the pocket, his voice would be too muffled to understand.

"Where are we?" he asked. He craned his neck in an attempt to look out the windows, but he couldn't see them from his vantage point.

"Los Angeles," Jen responded, not taking her eyes from the road. House swore. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," House responded acerbically. "Just the fact that I'm supposed to be in Princeton, New Jersey."

Jen winced. "Uh, New Jersey... isn't that on the other side of the country?"

"Your geography teacher must be so proud."

Jen sighed. "Well, I don't know what I can do about it. I mean, it's not like I can just drive over there." She pursed her lips, then brightened. "Hey, do you have friends or family we could call and explain the situation to? Maybe someone could come down here."

"No dice," House replied. "I already tried the 'I magically woke up halfway across the country the size of a doll' excuse last time I was late for work. I don't think anyone will buy it a second time."

Jen sighed. "Then you come up with something. And in the meantime, you're gonna need to get your head back in there, I'm pulling into the parking lot now."

House bit back the retort on his lips as he ducked into Jen's pocket, annoyed. _Great, _he thought._ Now I can look forward to six hours of figuring out a way to get back to normal with no leads._ Then he chided himself. _C'mon. You're a diagnostician. It's your job to figure crap like this out. This is sure as hell an interesting case._

His thoughts were interrupted as Jen stepped out of the car and began walking, the motion jarring his tiny body. He jabbed an elbow into her hip, and was pleased by the twitch and muffled yelp that he got in return. House was aware that the teen had not done anything in particular that warranted his action, but he was annoyed enough not to care. Having to go to school with her in her pocket was enough of an indignity that House was certain that he was justified in acting however he wanted.

"Hey, Jen!" House perked up at the sound of a male voice, muffled by the denim but still distinct enough to hear. A boyfriend, perhaps? If so, he might provide some material which House could use to his advantage. "Got a minute?"

"For you? Of course." Jen shifted forward, and House wondered what she was doing. He dared to peek out of her pocket, poking his head just above the rim. A glance upwards confirmed his suspicion that the young man addressing Jen was her boyfriend - at least, he assumed as much by the fact that they were kissing. However, as he stuck his head out, he could feel Jen tense, and a moment later, a strong finger was pushing him forcefully back into Jen's pocket. House shied away from the finger, angry and annoyed. It seemed that the girl had already disregarded any concern for his dignity. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that it was in his best interest that he was _not_ discovered in this state, but he ignored the thought, loathe to relinquish his annoyance. Instead, he stuck his elbow into Jen's hip again.

A wicked smirk came to his face as he felt her stiffen and abruptly pull back. "Hey, Jen, something wrong?" asked the boy who'd been kissing her.

"No Bobby, it's nothing," Jen answered, just a bit too quickly. House's smirk widened. "I must've been attacked by some little pest. No big deal." She laughed it off, and House sulked. Pest? He jabbed her again, but was disappointed by her response; though she flinched slightly, she didn't cry out this time. However, her hand did slip into her pocket. House tensed as Jen's hand wrapped around his frame and gave him a warning squeeze. Her fingers lingered for several moments before she removed her hand, and it was several seconds more before House relaxed, releasing a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding.

He considered poking her again, because he was sure that she wouldn't really harm him, no matter how much he annoyed her. But the fact that she could disturbed him, and he resisted the urge. This wasn't like the wars he'd had with Cuddy; she'd always been able to fire him and never had, a fact which he remembered with glee when stirring up trouble. But things were different with Jen. He barely knew the girl, and pushing limits with strangers was dangerous. He had no form of leverage over her as he did with Cuddy. And with Jen, his job wasn't even close to the worst thing he could lose. He shuddered.

He was vaguely aware of Jen and her boyfriend parting ways as he morbidly considered his situation. Then, Jen's hand snaked down once more, grasping House's body, and this time she removed him from her pocket. "Hey," she said simply.

House looked around, and found that the teen was holding him in front of an open locker. It wasn't hard to guess what was coming next. "You want me to stay in your locker." It was a statement and not a question; he didn't feel the need to ask for confirmation when the situation was obvious. However, Jen gave it anyway.

"Yeah. For first period, at least. I've got P.E. so you can't exactly come with me. No pockets in my gym shorts." House briefly considered pointing out other places he could spend the time, but decided that the circumstances didn't really lend themselves to that particular brand of humor. Jen was no Cuddy, and furthermore, she was a teenager. "I'll check on you after first period is over. That'll be in an hour. If you want to come with me to my next class, you can." With that, Jen placed House on top of a stack of textbooks and swung the door shut before he had an opportunity to respond.

House made a mental note to talk to Jen about squeezing him when she returned from P.E., annoyed that he hadn't had a chance. Then he glanced around, examining the interior of the teen's locker.

It wasn't completely dark; three slats in the door allowed light to filter in, dimly illuminating House's surroundings. Underneath his feet were three books, though he could only read the title of the topmost book in the stack - _Merde! The Real French You Were Never Taught At School._ House snorted, certain that he already knew whatever vulgar phrases the book contained. He'd have to ask Jen about it later. Turning his attention to the locker door, House grinned as an array of magnetic words and letters met his gaze. He stepped forward and slid one of the magnets, a letter 'E' that was as long as his arm, towards himself. And then another and another after that. He continued to manipulate the magnets, sometimes struggling with those higher up on the locker. Several times he gave up on trying to grab letters that were out of his reach. Still, enough were in range for him to arrange a message, and within the space of twenty minutes, he'd crafted a note for Jen.

_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
And you're a twerp._

Perhaps not his most eloquent writing, but House's need to annoy the teenager was maddening. He realized with chagrin as he stepped back that he still had forty more minutes to burn. Bun then he looked back, and in the corner of the locker, he saw the solution. Laying there quite innocently was a pink cell phone, no doubt Jen's. House grinned.

House was relieved as he pushed down the on button to find that the phone was not password protected. What to do first? He considered opening her contact menu and calling the people on it when a better idea struck. Eyes gleaming, House opened up the photo folder. If there was anything embarrassing or incriminating in there, he could mail it to her friends. He was disappointed, however, to discover nothing of particular significance. There were pictures of Jen, girls that he assumed were her friends, and several of her boyfriend who, now that House could get a better look, seemed rather effeminate. The closest any of the photos came to being incriminating was the single image of Jen and Bobby, engaged in a rather innocent looking kiss. House scoffed.

As House scoured the cell phone for something interesting, he recalled what Jen had said earlier while driving. _Maybe I should call someone..._ he paused, trying to imagine how each person he knew would respond.

Anyone on his team was out of the question. He didn't want anyone who worked for him to see him in this state - it would completely destroy the fear he'd worked so hard to instill in them. No, he wasn't about to put any of them into a position of power over him. He felt similarly about Chase. He might not work for House any longer, but the older doctor felt certain that he could still control Chase as he wished.

There was Cuddy, who already more or less had power over him. But despite the fact that her job gave her seniority, both of them knew that it was he who controlled their relationship. House was sure that if she found him in this state, she'd mother him to death, something which he was distinctly disinterested in. Cameron would probably respond similarly, and House felt that it would be even more disastrous with her. After all, if she'd been attracted to him because of his infarction, how much worse would things get when he was physically helpless?

Really, the only person left to consider was Wilson. He was the only person House could trust not to abuse power if given it, and the only person who wouldn't fawn and mother him. Although, he wondered about Wilson's stability as he recalled Amber's predicament. She was surely dead by now; the damage had been irreparable, even after they knew the cause. He felt a pang of remorse as he realized this, then he pushed the emotion away. Amber would still be dead later; he could feel guilty about that when he got his own situation sorted out. And if he wanted to do that, he didn't really have a choice - he'd have to call Wilson. Sighing, he dialed the oncologist's number.

The phone rang six times before a shaky voice finally answered. "Hello?"

"Wilson. It's me." House heard a sharp intake of air on the other end, followed by silence. "Wilson?"

"Who... who is this?" Wilson demanded. He sounded somewhere between worried and frightened.

"It's me! House!" He frowned. Why would Wilson ask? He knew House's voice. He knew who it was.

"You're _not_ House." Now he sounded angry.

"What the hell, Wilson?"

"Greg House is in a _coma_," spat the man on the other end. House paled as Wilson continued, "I don't know who you are or what you want, but if you don't leave me the hell alone, I'm calling the police." Before House had a chance to repond, he heard a click and then a dialtone. He stared in disbelief at the cell phone, trying to figure out what was going on.

"A coma?" he wondered aloud. If what Wilson said was true, then it meant that Jen's original guess was probably true - while his body was lying in a hospital bed on the other side of the country, he was inside a locker, inhabiting a fucking _doll_. The questions _why_ and _how_ immediately came to mind, but he pushed them away. Important as it was that he figure out what had happened to him, House felt that the first priority was convincing Wilson that it had happened at all. A feat which clearly wouldn't be easy, since his friend obviously believed him to be in New Jersey, body and mind alike.

He began to pace back and forth in the locker. What he needed was irrefutable proof that he was who he said he was. Once he had Wilson convinced that it was really him calling, House reasoned that it wouldn't be too hard to explain the situation. Sure, it was bizarre and impossible, but if Wilson knew that House was calling despite being in a coma, then half the battle was already won. His gaze flickered to the phone and he glared at it, as though the device was somehow responsible for his predicament. But as he eyed the phone, he realized that it might just be what he needed.

There had been a photo folder on the phone. Which of course suggested that it was a camera phone. House heaved it over and grinned as a button camera gleamed at him from the back of the phone. Perfect. Now all he had to do was take a picture of himself and send it to Wilson. Unfortunately, as House soon discovered, the task was easier said than done - he was physically incapable of standing in front of the camera and taking the picture at the same time. After ten frustrating minutes of trying and failing to photograph himself, House abandoned his efforts disgustedly, and lifted his leg to kick the cell phone.

It was at that moment that the bell rang, and he dropped his leg as he covered his ears, the sound reverberating in the metal chamber and assaulting his tiny eardrums. The sound tapered off and he slowly removed his hands from his head, ears still ringing slightly. Obviously, the sound had signaled the end of the first class, which meant that Jen would be back any moment. Sure enough, the locker swung open a moment later, and a set of dark, chocolate colored eyes peered down at House as he straightened up.

"Did you want to come to second period? I've got US History next," the teen offered breathlessly.

House thought about it. If he went with her, he might be able to talk to her about contacting Wilson. She could take a picture of him to send to the oncologist. "Yeah," he replied after a moment. "But we need to talk."

"After class," Jen responded dismissively. "My third period class is at the college, so we can talk on the way." House opened his mouth to protest, but then he was dropped into the young woman's pocket and the conversation was effectively terminated. House sighed, hoping that the History class might at least be interesting. Then again, remembering what he did of his own high school experience, he doubted it.


End file.
